Abusive Beginnings to a Beautiful Relationship
by nickythehippi
Summary: Watson gets drunk and does the unthinkable. Sherlock is left to pick up the pieces and try something new. [This has started as a one-shot but I'm considering lengthening it depending on the interest. This was just a scene I couldn't get out of my head until I wrote it.]
1. Ch 1: What Happened Last Night?

The blackness vibrated as John Watson woke up. He felt stiff and tired, but as he started to move he found he was restrained and opened his eyes. The light felt blinding though he was sure it wasn't from the large round opening at the end of whatever place he was in. He could hear the water pouring out now and there as a black smug in the middle of the light. John blinked until his vision became clear. He was in some sort of underground tunnel, sewer probably, and there were thin bars or metal that ran the height of the opening at the end. He let out a sigh of disappointment as his escape route was taken from him and looked to the dark center to see….Sherlock?

"Morning, John," Sherlock as he sat on a stool his legs spread apart with a hand on each knee as he was bent forward some but kept his face on the ground.

John was completely confused now. This situation and place gave him the chills but Sherlock's voice had sounded warm, or as warm as it ever did and he could swear he heard a bit of sadness in there somewhere. He couldn't really make Sherlock out just his dark form against the light. The picture was oddly beautiful and menacing at the same time. The round light with its dark bars reminding him he was trapped and the man's dark form with legs at either side knees bent at perfect ninety-degree angles with arms that led to another set of ninety-degree angles and the crown of his curly flat mate's head. It made him feel like a fly trapped in a spider's web, and the spider was sitting four meters out. The constant sound of trickling water made his nerves feel on end. "Blood hell, Sherlock, where are we?"

Sherlock swallowed, "This is one of my meeting rooms. I bring people here when I need a word with them and I need a word with you, John. What do you remember about last night?" He asked in a soft calm voice.

At the question John's vision seemed to shake and he closed his eyes against it as he tried to remember.

 _John walked out of his room dressed to go to the pub and looked at the couch to find Sherlock spread across it with an irritated look. "Look, you got the guy, you should be happy," he said putting on his coat._

" _Not fast enough," Sherlock said sharply with a glare._

 _John walked up to him with a frown. He hated to see his best friend torture himself about the one's he couldn't safe but it was also the biggest proof of how human the man was. "You only had the case eighteen hours before you solved it. The way I look at it that death is on the police's hands, if they had brought it to you sooner then she would be alive."_

 _Sherlock glanced up at John and nodded, "Thanks," he said in a soft hushed tone._

 _John let out a little sigh of relief, "Hey, you want to go to the pub with me?"_

 _Sherlock looked at him with calculating eyes, "No, John, I don't want to go to the pub with you. Why can't you just stay home?"_

" _I need to unwind," John said with a smile as he walked toward the door. "Goodnight, Sherlock," he said over his shoulder before leaving._

"Jesus, John, at this rate we'll be here all day! Just get to the part where you came home!" Sherlock demanded looking up at the man.

John was getting more annoyed by this whole situation and opened his eyes to see more of the curly hair against the light. "How the fuck do you know where I am in my own memories?! I've had just about enough of this. Now you can either let me go or I'll get out on my own."

Sherlock stood at those words and his voice as harsh and crisp like a whip though the cool silent space. "After what you did last night you are in no place to demand anything. I welcome you to do your best to get out of your restraints but I can promise you that it will be fruitless."

John did try though and Sherlock was right, as usual, "I swear by the Queen, Sherlock, that when I get out of here I'm going to…"

"WHAT!" Sherlock demanded walking up to him.

John pulled back as the man approached with venom and anger like he'd never heard from the man. His eyes widened as he could finally see some of Sherlock's face from behind the popped collar of his jacket and it had been thoroughly abused. "Dear, Lord, what happened to you?" John asked breathlessly with concern to see the man back away from him and turn to look out at the light.

"It's time to remember, John," Sherlock said in a quiet broken little voice.

John swallow hard, that voice concerned him even more than the bruises. He closed his eyes again and tried to remember.

 _He could remember clumsily climbing the stairs to his flat. He was mad and horney and completely hammered. He opened the door to see Sherlock playing a beautifully tragic piece of music on the violin. Sherlock's mouth moved into a set frown at the sight of him and his eyes went cold. John raked his eyes over the man's form and found himself hating whoever invented clothes. He was suddenly much closer to the man and he could feel those eyes trying to cut into his skin and laughed. "You're beautiful when your mad," John said reaching out to touch Sherlock but the man evaded his hand as he put down the violin and glared at him._

" _Not again," Sherlock said in a tight voice, "we agreed, remember." He said as he faced a drunken John._

 _John laughed and there was a menacing tone to it, "But I neeeeed you, Sherl," he said as he rubbed his hardening penis though his trousers._

 _Sherlock's face blanched as John molested himself in front of him and took a step back, "No! Not again! You promised!"_

 _John smiled as the memory filled him from 7 months ago –_

" _What are you doing?" Sherlock whispered as John had drunkenly fell on his bed._

" _What are you doing in my bed?" John asked to see Sherlock under a white sheet, and if his shoulders were an indication of the man's clothing then he was naked. That brought a smile to his lips and blood to his hips._

" _This is my bed, you tosser!" Sherlock said irritated to be waken up in such a manner._

 _John laugh and rolled on top of Sherlock, "You ever think I wouldn't have to be a tosser if you'd just stop being an utter twat," he said in soft voice as his hips rolled against the other mans._

" _John, get off me," Sherlock said as his voice hitched at the movement._

" _Oh, Sherl, don't be that way," John said as he unzipped his trousers to free his cock, "this could be nice if you don't struggle." The sentence had ended in a dark tone as he eyed the wide blue-green eyes in warning._

 _Sherlock moved quickly and slipped out from under the man and out of the bed. He started to run when his arm was yanked hard behind him and he fell. John gritted his teeth, "You're a daft twat, aren't you!" he said kicking the man in the stomach._

 _Sherlock didn't make any noise as he was kicked and instead stayed on the floor breathing hard as he tried to think of a way out of this where neither of them got hurt. Obviously John wasn't himself right now and would never do something like this if he wasn't hammered._

 _John let his eyes linger on the cream white skin of his flat mate as he stroked himself slowly. He wished that Sherlock was hard so he could really know his size but even soft the penis was very long. He bit his lip as he saw that razor-sharp hipbone and that glorious bum. He bent down and pulled Sherlock to his knees by his hair, "Get to it then," he said with dark eyes as the man shook his head, in refusal or pure shock John wasn't sure. He back handed the man hard across the cheek to which he fell over again and he set him up once again, "I said suck me off before your ass starts to look any more appealing to me," John said angrily. Why did he have to do everything himself?_

 _Sherlock tried to stop the tears but they came despite him as he opened his mouth but refused to do anything more than that. John didn't seem to mind though as he pushed his way in, "Oh, sweet mother of God, I don't think your mouth has ever been so delicious," John said as he looked down at the man's eyes and gently wiped away a tear with his thumb. "It's okay," he said as he licked his lips and used the mouth._

 _Sherlock felt cold and sick as he allowed his mouth to be used for John's baser needs but after a couple of minutes he fell to his side and vomited. His whole body was shaking as it was too much._

 _John had been close and kicked Sherlock hard in the head for his time out. "You slag!" he roared pulling the man up tossing him across the room like a ragdoll. He stalked over to him and picked him up to throw him on the bed face down. "Spread those legs like a dog with two dicks," John purred as he pulled them apart and let his hard slobber covered cock slip on the crack of Sherlock's ass._

 _Sherlock shook as silent tears fell. He grimaced as John pulled his hips closer and started rubbing his dick down the entire length of his crack._

 _John could see the puckered little hole as he slipped up and down the crack. He thought about how tight it would be around his dick and the sounds Sherl would make and it took him over the edge. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck, you're good," he said through pants as he watched his cum spill down that lovely slick crack and swallowed as he suddenly felt exhausted. He slowly backed away admiring his work for a moment._

 _Sherlock looked at him and stood up. His eyes were red from previous tears and his cheeks were stained with those tears remains. "Never again," he whispered as he wrapped the white sheet around his bare body._

 _John was surprised to see those blue orbs surrounded by red and frowned in concern, "Oh, Sherl," he said with sadness in his voice, "okay, my love, never again," he said and placed a tender kiss on the blokes cheek and nodded before walking out and up his own set of stairs to his room._

John's eye widened in complete and utter shock at the memory and looked to see the dark figure of his best friend standing farther away and still not looking at him. He could see Sherlock's hand was shaking as a syringe fell from his finger tips and the sound of it hitting the ground was deafening to his ears. He could hear every thud of his heart as it reminded him that he was still alive after the violation he'd pushed on his best friend.

"Still romancing over the time seven months ago, hmm," Sherlock said in a shaky voice. "I disappeared for a couple days after that to save you from seeing what your drunken hands had done to me," he said wrapping his hands around his chest as he looked at the light. "I thought," he said and a sniffle escaped him as tears returned, "that it was a onetime thing then." Sherlock grabbed the side of the dark tunnel as he felt his knees weaken as the effects from several hours ago still affected him so harshly. "In a way… I was right. That night was a merely a lovely caress compared to last night."

John felt sick as the words pushed his back to the chair. What the hell had he done! He wasn't sure he could handle knowing, but he had to understand. His lips trembled as he closed his eyes again.

 _John licked his lips as he looked Sherlock over, "You're more prepared this time I see," he said flatteringly. "You stayed awake and dressed," he said nodding his approval over the man's attempts. "Only, I don't know if it will be enough, Sherl," he said mocking sadness. "Because it doesn't change the fact that I am a solider," he said in a cold harsh tone as he stepped closer._

" _John, we mean more to each other than a shag and you would never do something to jeopardize our relationship," Sherlock said with calculating eyes._

 _John tightened his hand into a fist and punch Sherlock in the face. The man went down and looked at him with shock, "What relationship!? You prance around here half naked calling me stupid while I hide in my room tossing my spunk at the thought of you! I'm done waiting, Sherl, now I'm going to take what's mine," he said pulling a knife out of his pocket and grabbing the man's shirt to cut it off._

" _NO! JOHN, DON'T DO THIS!" Sherlock yelled as his shirt was sliced through and pain seared his chest he looked down to see a five-inch-long cut angled on his pectoral muscle with a thin line of blood. He looked back at John in disbelief._

 _John tusked at the sight, "See what happens when you fight it, Sherl, now your bleeding." He said licking his lips at how beautiful the crimson blood was against the pale skin. He started to reach for the man's trouser when the blade was knocked from his hand with precision and he caught the man's wrist. "You want to fight this than give me your best shot," he said with a gleam in his eyes as he pulled the man to his feet._

 _Sherlock had to work to keep control of his breathing as he stood there bleeding without a shirt. "PISS OFF!" he said moving back from John._

 _John grinned as he punched Sherlock in the face again and held him up as he continued to drive his right hand into the detective's head. After several hard hits Sherlock focused and ducked the hit and slammed his palm hard into Johns sternum, making him step back some and took off to the still open door. John grabbed the knife and threw it with calculated hands and it drove into the back of Sherlock's thigh making him scream in pain. John didn't waste any time thought as he closed in on his prey grabbing the man's arm and twisting it until there was a loud pop and another horrible scream. "That wasn't much of a challenge for me, Sherlock, what a disappointment you are," he said as he let go of the arm and pulled the knife out of the leg. Sherlock fell into a pool of whimpers at John's feet. John took this time to unzip himself and piss on the on the man's face below him. "That's it, be a good boy now and it will be over soon," he said as he grabbed the man's wet hair and pulled him up to a sitting position against the wall. "Don't make me break your jaw," he said sweetly and smiled as the mouth opened and he made use of it. It was nice and hot but it was just a pitstop. After a couple of minutes he was raging hard on and he pulled out of the mouth and started to unzip Sherlock's trousers._

" _NO!" Sherlock screamed pulling back from those hands as he's body shook. "Please, no!" he said as he tried to move and escape._

" _Shut UP!" John roared back handing the man's face. He stopped a couple of minutes after that mouth had become silent. The face was bloody, maybe he'd started punching at some time, he thought casually and let go of his grip on the hair to see the man slump down with those wide glassy eyes still open. He finished unzipping the man and pulled the material down his hips then moved to the feet and started pulling them off._

" _GET OFF ME!" Sherlock yelled as he kicked and fought but his action only got the trousers off quicker and soon the John was on him pulling down his pants and shoving a dry finger inside of him._

 _John basked in the glorious scream that issued from his lovers throat, "You almost made me lose my spunk with that sweet noise," he said with lust as he pushed the finger in knuckle deep._

 _Mrs. Hudson's lip trembled as her feet stopped on the step at the sight before her. She pointed the gun with shaky hands, "John Watson, get off of him!"_

 _John pulled his finger out of the hole at the sound of Mrs. Hudson's voice and got off of Sherlock._

 _Sherlock saw little Mrs. Hudson standing on the step of the stairs with a shaking gun in her hands and with terror in her eyes and suddenly he didn't care if he had to KILL Watson. NO ONE was allowed to hurt Mrs. Hudson. He gritted his teeth as he saw John walk toward her in slow ominous steps and he was up running at his back. John reached out and slapped her while disarming her but before he could process it there was a arm around his neck hard and cold. It didn't take long before everything went black._

John coughed on the bile as it came up his throat. He turned his head to the side as he let the sickness out.

"Now you remember," Sherlock said in a sad voice as he was sitting down in chair only two meters away. "I'm truly sorry, John. I should have talked to you the first time. I… miscalculated," he said looking guilty and weak as he watched John.

John felt tears stinging his eyes at the apology, "You can't be seriously apologizing to me went I'm the one that attacked you! You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one that went after you and I'm sick with myself over it." John said as he sobbed.

Sherlock walked over to John and hesitantly wiped his tears away with a piece of tissue. "Please don't, John, there has already been enough tears," he begged. "We have to talk now because you crossed a line."

" **A** line? Sherlock, I crossed every line," John said seriously.

Sherlock leaned back in the chair, "That might be, but the one I'm most worried about is that you went after Mrs. Hudson," he said and his voice sounded stronger.

John had to work to keep the tears back. He'd abused this man in every possible way and what concerned him the most was that he'd hit the landlady. Of course, it was obvious to everyone that Mrs. Hudson was a good deal more than a landlady to Sherlock Holmes even if the man himself had never exactly said it out loud. "How is she?" John asked with worry.

Sherlock glared at John, "She is okay physically but she is completely heartbroken, John, and it's all your fault. She trusted you! She cares for you and you put her in the worst kind of position! She can't stop crying and she saw me in a bad way and thinks she has to take care of me. I had to drug her to get her to sleep." He said with a frown and then glared back up at John, "Mrs. Hudson is a sweet lady who has done nothing to deserve such treatment by anyone but especially by you!"

"Yes, I completely agree," John said looking in those cold eyes. "Kill me, beat me senseless, turn me into the police. Whatever you decided is fine. I hurt both of you and I deserve no mercy." His heart was beating hard in his chest.

Sherlock shook his head, "Don't be over dramatic, John. An apology to her and your undying devotion to never harm her or let her be harmed should be adequate."

"No, I deserve more of a punishment than mere words or future loyality can provide. I deserve.." John's sentence was cut short as Sherlock spoke over him.

"John, I will not allow you the dramatics of turning yourself in to some martyr over a drunken night! Now if you need to feed the poor or cater to Mrs. Hudson's ever whim for the next several months to sooth your ego, then do it but that is it. This is not up for discussion, it is an order," Sherlock said flatly.

"Yes, sir," John said with military precision.

Sherlock nodded his acceptance and moved to get more comfortable in the chair when a hiss of pain escaped him.

John felt that sound like a stab in the gut, "Sherlock! You need medical attention," he exclaimed with concern and guilt.

"I've already had medical attention," Sherlock snapped, "this is important I need to get through this," he finished calmer and more focused as he used his mind palace to control the pain. He let out a heavy sigh and looked back up at John. "I need to explain some things to you before we talk. There are some things that I have never told you because I never thought they were prudent to our relationship but now they are. John," he said in a deep soft tone, "I don't want a lot of questions about these things I just need you to listen."

John swallowed hard, "Okay, Sherlock," he said as is heart seemed to beat slower in his chest anticipating that it would be bad.

Sherlock chewed his bottom lip a little before beginning as he was nervous. "I am a virgin, that is to say I have never had an orgasm or been penetrated," he said as he eyed a rat as if it was the most interesting thing in the room. "I know you heard Mycroft say it and others but you never asked me and I never talked to you about it. So, there it is. I've always been a bit weary of sex which is probably due to the fact I was… molested fairly frequently at a very young age." Sherlock glanced to see shock and fear on Johns features before looking back to the rat. "I don't really know how young I was I just know that my Uncle Barney always touched me and had me touch or… lick him. Well, that is until Mycroft found out and then he killed himself and left a suicide note apologizing to me along with leaving me everything he owned." Sherlock said with a frown, "Speaking of Mycroft, he can never know about anything that happed last night or the one time before. As much as those events brought up some rather well repressed memories for me I'm quite afraid that they would bring back some rather nasty acts for him." Sherlock said with a deeper frown and then shook his head a little. "Now, of course, is the big question. Why did you do it? I could only deduce two reasons for such actions, which is that your either hate me or you love me."

John's heart was beating so slow as he feared what Sherlock would say about the truth and yet he couldn't help but eliminate the wrong answer. "I don't hate you, Sherlock," he said with emotion.

Sherlock glance at him with searching eyes before looking away. "If you did hate me I would understand. I'm a jerk and hard to put up with, I know that. I could also understand that over the years you may have grown fond of me. We put our lives on the line for each other and we have killed to keep the other safe, so it isn't impossible that something more could have developed. If you did love me, then naturally you would feel resentful over my lack of interest or affection. Of course, this is where my blame comes into place, because even though I didn't give any indication of it, I'm really rather fond of you," Sherlock said with flushed cheeks as he looked in John's astonished eyes. "I should have told you a long time ago but I was afraid to be rejected or that even if you felt the same way that my lack or experience and information would mean that it would end in disaster. I never thought that ignoring it could lead to the same path," he said in thought about how it all had went so wrong. "The only good thing from all of this, is that there is nothing more to fear. If you hate me, then you can leave, and if you love me as I do you, then we can give it a shot knowing it can't be any worse than this." Sherlock said trying to hold his head up, "This is where you come in, John. Which will it be?"

John blinked as he tried to process this turn of events. He had for all practical purposes just tried to rape Sherlock and now he was being asked if he would date him?! "YES!" He startled himself at the volume for which he'd yelled his answer. "I love you, Sherlock Holmes," he said after some of the echo finally faded.

It was Sherlock's turn to blink in complete surprise as he processed that. He slowly nodded, "Right. Okay. Well, see that syringe over there?" He asked to see John nod with a look of disappointment. "That was my last shot of heroin and I NEED to know that last night was your last time getting drunk," he said seriously.

John couldn't stop a few of the tears from falling, "God, yes, no more drinks ever," he vowed as he watched Sherlock give him a soft smile as he rose and started undoing the restraints.


	2. Ch 2: Cleaning Makes A House A Holmes

John had just started to stand when Sherlock started to fall and he caught him. "Sherlock!" He said in a panic but the man was unresponsive and he felt for a pulse. It was weak but not life threatening. He took in a breath that until that moment he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He moved to his left, putting his right hand behind Sherlock's back and then quickly pulling up on the back of his knees with his left arm and balanced the weight. He frowned down at Sherlock as he held him, "I'm sorry, Sherlock, for all the pain I caused you, but I'll make it all better now. I promise," he said to the limp form as he carried him out of the dark tunnel.

When he got outside he saw a taxi that evidently Sherlock had payed to wait for their return. He settled Sherlock in and buckled him up before getting in as well. "221B Bakers Street," John said as he buckled himself in and they were off. John checked on Sherlock every couple of minutes to check his breathing and pulse before they arrived. It wasn't until he stood outside the building with Sherlock in his arms passed out from pain and injury that he felt unsure if he should have come here.

He swallowed his pride and guilt as he looked at the beaten form of his best friend who needed rest and comfort. Sherlock needed to be home and it was his job to make sure the man got it. He walked in and started up the stairs when he saw her come out of her door. Their eyes met and her eyes widened at the sight of Sherlock in his arms.

"What…what happened to him, John?" Mrs. Hudson asked with unsure eyes as she stood still.

John swallowed the bruise on her face had darkened and the fact she kept her distance along with the doubt in her features kill a part of him. "Mrs. Hudson, by all that is holy, I swear to you that I will never forgive myself for hitting you. My only prayer is that by some grace of God that you will let me live my life to make it up to you and show you how much I truly treasure you," he said unable to keep glisten of fresh tears from his eyes.

"Oh good," she said with a relieved sigh, "it you, John," she said with a warm smile. "It's fine, dear. Just a bruise, it was you I was worried about and… him," she said with a sad frown as she looked at Sherlock's limp form.

John felt relief and guilt hit him at the same time. He didn't deserve her quick forgiveness though it seemed to restore his strength to have it. "He passed out. He's in desperate need of rest after… after… what I did to him," he clutched the man as his voice broke.

"Oh my, I'll get the door for you dear," she said climbing the stair in front of him and holding the door open as he walked in with Sherlock. He only made it in a few steps before he fell to his knees still holding Sherlock perfectly still. Mrs. Hudson frowned as she put a hand on his shoulder and knew what had brought the strong brave solider to his knees. It was being face to face with the destruction he'd caused.

John felt the floor fall out beneath him as he saw the blood and trail of torn and ripped clothing that littered their living room. He couldn't breath as the image was distorted by his tears as it all became too real. He suddenly remembered things he didn't want to remember like the way Sherlock's lip had trembled and the sounds his head made as it was punched.

Mrs. Hudson watched as John sat sobbing on his knees holding Sherlock muttering apologies and promises though tears for several minutes until he finally grew silent in his crying. "Dear, I think he needs to go to his room," she said tenderly giving his shoulder a squeeze.

John blinked looking at the lifeless form in his arms and nodded, "Yes, of course," he said in a hoarse voice as he pushed himself back to his feet and walked into Sherlock's room. Mrs. Hudson straightened the bed and pulled back the sheets of the bed and John sat Sherlock up on them. He very slowly removed the jacket from the man and could feel the swelling and heat from the injured shoulder. "He needs ice on this shoulder," he said to himself as he stared Sherlock's face and tenderly laid the man out on the bed. He was about to pull up the covers when a cold pack was put in his hands. He looked to see Mrs. Hudson give him and reassuring smile and he used Sherlock's scarf to wrap it on so it would stay in place. "Thank you," he said as he covered the man up in the covers and walked out of the room.

"We should clean this up before he wakes up. He shouldn't have to see this," Mrs. Hudson said with worry as she looked at the place.

John shook his head, "No, Mrs. Hudson, I need to clean this up myself. I made this mess," he said with a grimace as he looked at the room.

"You sure, dear," Mrs. Hudson said with sympathy.

"Yes, thank you for all you've done," he said giving her a quick but meaningful hug. It wasn't long before he heard the door close behind their landlady and he was left alone with the remains of his destruction. As he stood there he could see the night before unfolding and it bothered him that Sherlock hadn't fought back.

Sherlock was good at hand to hand combat and even though he might not be quite as good as he was himself he was more than equipped to have stopped the attack, but he didn't? Why? Why had Sherlock allowed it? He obviously hadn't wanted the abuse, so why didn't he kick his ass? Why had he… "Oh God," John said with a shaky chin as he held on to the kitchen counter for support as his answer rang in his head. Sherlock hadn't wanted to hurt him. It was the only reason Sherlock would not have fought back. John felt sick at the thought of Sherlock enduring all that pain and holding himself back just to keep from hurting him. He took some deep breaths and started getting out the cleaning products from under the sink. This place wasn't going to clean itself and he would be damned if he was going to allow Sherlock to have to see this reminder when he woke up. He started by picking up the cloth left of Sherlock's outfit and made notes of the articles of clothing and sizes so he could purchase new ones to replace them before throwing them away. Next, he scrubbed the floors and wall of any blood. He was straightening up when he found Mrs. Hudson's cell phone laying against the base board and picked it up and saw a prompt appear to watch recording. His eyebrows came together in confusion as he pressed play.

"It's one thing to hurt me, but I will not permit anyone to harm Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock's voice said and as his bare legs came into frame as he dragged John's body to the couch. By the time that Sherlock had him on the couch the whole man was in the frame and John's lips shook as he looked at the bloody and bruised man's body. He could hear Mrs. Hudson calling for Sherlock who promptly ran to her aid.

"Sherlock, oh god, Sherlock, what's happened to John?" Mrs. Hudson said in a shaky voice.

"He just had too much to drink. He'll be fine, but how are you Mrs. Hudson?" He said, his voice dripping with concern as he walked her into the flat and in the frame to sit her down on John's chair.

"Sherlock," she gasped as she finally really looked at him, "dear lord, what did he do to you?"

Sherlock pulled away at the question as if it hurt to hear it. "Nothing, I'm fine," he said facing away from her but toward the camera unknowingly. His eyes were filled with tears and confusion. John shook his head as he watched Sherlock struggle with his emotions.

"You're not fine, dear, you need medical attention. I'm calling Molly and Lestrade," she said watching him.

"No, not Lestrade, there is no reason for him to be here," Sherlock pleaded as he looked at her.

"I'm not asking Molly to come here without protection and I would feel better if there was another man here after what… **he** did to you," Mrs. Hudson said grabbing the landline and dialing. Sherlock walked out of the frame as the call was made and after a couple of minutes he walked back in the frame with a dressing gown on and a syringe in his hand. "Sherlock? What are you doing?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she stared at the syringe.

"Giving Dr. Watson a shot. This will keep him out for a few hours and reverse the effects of the alcohol so he doesn't have a hangover," he said as he found a vein and injected John with it.

Mrs. Hudson stood up as Sherlock's body waivered and held his arm, "Come on now, dear, it's time to sit," she said gently as if speaking to a small child and Sherlock's body obeyed even as the man shook his head in protest. Once he sat down the man pulled his legs to him in a fetal position and sobbed. John hit the counter hard as he watched Sherlock shake from the tears. Mrs. Hudson walked to the side of him and tenderly stroked the man's hair, "Oh, sweet child," she sighed.

"It's… all my fault," Sherlock choked out between sobs. "I… drove him… to this."

"No, no, my darling, you didn't. This isn't your fault," She said as her own tears started to fall.

"He… he… hates me," Sherlock gasped as he looked up at her and she hugged him as he cried harder against her. John swallowed hard as he watched the man he loved fall apart because of what he'd done and he thought about stopping the video so he didn't have to see any more of this but didn't. He didn't deserve to be spared seeing the damage he'd done.

"Okay, Mrs. Hudson we're…" the voice of Lestrade faded off at the sentence. "Dear Lord, what on God's green earth happened here!" He said as he walked in only his trousers in the frame.

"Sherlock!?" Molly said in a panic as she ran over to him.

"John… he… he was drunk and…" Mrs. Hudson shook her head as she tried to say what happened, "he… he…"

Molly jerked back as her eyes widened, "Is Sherlock naked under that robe?" she asked with confusion and surprise.

Mrs. Hudson nodded, "He was naked… and… and… John was… on top of him," she croaked out.

Molly and looked at Lestrade and then to Dr. Watson's sleeping form with utter shock and anger before cooling her expression and looking at the shaking form of Sherlock who still clutching Mrs. Hudson tight, his head buried in her shirt. "I… I need to see him," Molly said softly to Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson moved back some and Sherlock wrapped his arms around his knees again burying his head in them instead as his arms shook. Molly swallowed hard, "Sherlock, it's Molly, I just need to check you out," she said putting out a hand on his arm to which Sherlock jerked from. Molly pulled her hand back watching Sherlock hide with trembling lips.

"Sherlock! Look at me!" Lestrade demanded as he walked up and Sherlock obeyed. Lestrade swayed backwards and moved his foot back to keep from falling. "Bloody hell, I'll kill him," he said at the sight of Sherlocks beaten face.

"No! No! It was all my fault," Sherlock said in a hoarse voice.

Lestrade looked to Mrs. Hudson who shook her head at him with a frown. "Fine, but I'm taking him in," Lestrade said as he made his way toward the couch but Sherlock jumped out of the chair and past Molly to block Lestrade from the couch.

"No, you're not. I'm not pressing charges," Sherlock said standing there covered in bruises and still bleeding with a look of pure defiance on his face.

Lestrade shook his head as he watched Sherlock defend the man while closing his robe with the belt. "Christ, Sherlock, the man tried to RAPE YOU!" He yelled moving closer.

Sherlock's eyes turned to steel, "One more step, Captain, and we go to war," he said as his voice lower getting in a fighting position.

"Sherlock," he gasped, "he isn't your friend," Lestrade said taking a step back.

"That wasn't John. He was drunk. I'll… I'll talk to him. I'll handle it," Sherlock said standing tall though his voice shook as the blood started to seep through the cloth.

Lestrade's voice filled with emotion, "Sherlock, you sound like those abused wives that defend their abusive husbands. How many times has this happened?"

Sherlock swallowed hard, "Only once before," he said and everyone in the room gasped, "but it won't happen again. I should have talked to him after the first time," he said as his legs began to buckle and Lestrade caught the man before he fell.

"No! GET OFF ME!" Sherlock screamed recoiling from Lestrade's hands and falling on the floor.

John wanted to kill himself as he watched Sherlock curl back into a fetal sitting position and rock still staying between Lestrade and him.

Molly glared at the couch with loathing and then opened her doctors bag. "Sherlock, I have to give you something for your nerves. I can't examine you like this," she said pulling out a syringe.

Sherlock peeked over his knees at her, "Only if you promise me that no one will touch John," he demanded.

Molly looked sick but turned to Lestrade, "Back off! He needs medical attention now and I'll be damned if John is going to cause him not to get it!" She seethed.

"But," the Captain had started to protest when Molly grabbed him by this suit jacket and shook him.

"This is serious! Every moment we wait more damage is being done! You think I don't want to break every bone in Watson's body right now? You think I don't want that? Of course I do, but right now isn't about Watson it's about Sherlock! So, you will stand down or I'll give you a sedative of your own!" She barked showing her teeth and Lestrade swallowed hard before nodding and backing away. Mrs. Hudson gave the woman an appreciative look as she watched Molly get on her knees beside Sherlock and get the dose ready. "Okay, no one will touch Watson. I promise," she implored.

"Thank you, Molly," Sherlock said as he held out a shaking arm for her.

"Anything for you, Sherlock," Molly said, her voice thick with emotion as she administered the drug.

It didn't take long for Sherlock to calm down, "I'm ready," he said looking at her with relaxed features.

Molly nodded, "I need to feel your face first to assess the injuries," she said and started running her hands and prodding her fingers over his face. "Sherlock, you have a skull fracture and broken nose; you need to go to the hospital."

"I'll be fine. You can set my nose and there is no treatment for a skull fracture," Sherlock responded flatly and then gave her a look of interest. "Alprazolam, morphine and… fluoxetine…" he said reproachfully, "I don't think I'm that needy."

Molly winced at the comment, "You were about to go into a panic attack," she said dryly. "Shut up for a minute, I'm about to set your nose." She grabbed his nose and make a quick jerking motion, which make a cracking noise followed by a yelp from Sherlock. "Good thing you didn't go to the hospital where they can give you a bag of morphine for the pain."

Sherlock swallowed, "And deny you the pleasure; I wouldn't dream of it," he said sitting Indian style and his eyes followed her to his partly showing genitals and he flushed pulling his legs together. "Sorry, I should have put on pants. Do you want me to put on pants?" He asked seriously.

Molly turned crimson, "No, it's fine, I may have to… to… look if… did he… did John hurt you there?" She stuttered.

Sherlock looked to see Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson slip out into the hall to give them privacy. "No, but he put his finger… inside… well… you know," he said looking down in shame. "I guess… I'm not… not a virgin anymore," he said softly.

Molly blinked rapidly in shock both at what had been done and the fact that Sherlock was a virgin. "Um, no, no it doesn't mean that," she said quickly. "Do you… want me… to look?"

"No!" Sherlock said turning pale as he looked back up at her. "I mean it's find. It doesn't hurt anymore, just a little sore. I'm fine down there. No need really. I just…" his rant stopped as she put a hand on his hand.

"Okay," Molly said gently, "then I won't."

Sherlock swallowed hard and leaned forward to kiss her cheek, "Thank the Lord for you, Molly," he said as he turned his hand up and held hers.

Molly gave him a brave sad smile, "Thanks, Sherlock," she said and moved her skilled hands over his shoulder to hear a hiss of pain. "I'm going to have to move your arm some, Sherlock, I think your shoulder is out."

"It is, it needs to be knocked back in," Sherlock said with a grimace.

"This is going to hurt," she said and jerked the shoulder hard.

"Aaaagggghhh," Sherlock screamed as his shoulder was popped back into the socket.

"I'm so sorry," Molly said as she paled.

"No, it had to be done; it would have been worse if I had to do it myself," Sherlock assured her.

"Alright," Molly said as she gently pulled the robe off his shoulder and let if fall to his hips. "He cut you?" She asked as she moved the bag closer to her and pulled out supplies.

"On my chest and right thigh," Sherlock supplied.

Molly got to work cleaning the wounds and stitching him up. It only took her another couple of minutes to be done with the exam. "I did everything I can do. You need a lot of rest and fluids, but you should be fine. Call me if anything gets worse or anything else starts to hurt. I still think you should go to the hospital and get some imaging done to ensure I caught everything but I can't make you," she said standing up.

Sherlock slowly stood up too and looked down at her, "You're the best Molly, I don't deserve you," he said with emotion.

"Oh, shut up," Molly said with a flush of pink, "and quit saying nice things so I'll say how wonderful you are and how the world wouldn't be the same without you."

Sherlock let out a little laugh at that and cupped her jaw in his right hand as he leaned down and put a kiss on her forehead, "You're absolutely the best," he said tenderly before taking a step back.

Molly smiled as a tear slipped down her cheek silently. "Well, I better be off. Work starts up soon and I need to get a cup of coffee," she said and walked outside.

Sherlock watched her and then looked back at John. He let out a sigh, "After they leave, you and I need to have a talk, John. It's a much overdue conversation." It wasn't long after that when the recording stopped hitting it's time limit.

John felt relieved that Mrs. Hudson had the smarts to call Molly and Lestrade, though he didn't look forward to seeing them after they had seen what he'd done to Sherlock. He started cleaning again, this time on the kitchen which had been dirty before everything. He was almost done when he heard the familiar steps of Mrs. Hudson who gave a gentle knock. John opened the door, "What can I do for you, Mrs. Hudson?"

"My phone, I can't seem to find it anywhere," Mrs. Hudson said with concern.

"Oh, here, I found it when I was cleaning," he said handing over the device.

Mrs. Hudson smiled, "Thank you so much," she said and then Molly walked through the open door and the tension in the room mounted as she walked over to John.

"I'm…" John didn't get to finish his sentence as his face was slapped hard. "Sor.." he was interrupted again by another slap.

"Don't you dare," Molly Hooper said with venom as she slapped him hard half a dozen times more. "You took treasures from him that you can never get back. You took his trust. You took his innocence. You took his virginity. And what did you give him in return? Heartbreak, abuse, and insecurity about his own body!"

John swallowed, "I don't think he'll be insecure…" John started but was slapped hard again.

"You don't think, that right there is the whole problem! Have you been raped Dr. Watson?" Molly asked with dark eyes.

John had to bite his lip to remind himself he didn't hit women, "No, but…" he was slapped again and he had to clench his fist to keep from hitting her back.

"Well I have!" She yelled back to see his face grow pale with horror at her secret. "See, I know what it's like to have some man force himself on you and what it does to you. Ever wonder why I don't wear makeup or sexy clothes? Ever wonder why I don't fix my hair up or wear any perfume? I don't want to lure men like you to me. Even now, fifteen years later I blame myself for dressing up and showing too much skin. I still wonder if I had just worn something different or not put on makeup if that man might have left me alone. I still don't feel comfortable in my own skin and it was because of him. I know what Sherlock will feel because I've lived through it too."

"Oh, no, Molly," Mrs. Hudson said moving over to hug the young woman. "There, there, sweet child, let us go down stair and have a nice cup of tea," she said gently.

Molly glared at John but didn't say anything else to him. "Let me grab something first, Mrs. Hudson." She walked over to the couch and snatched her syringe that had rolled under it and put it in her bag. "Okay," Molly said as she walked out with Mrs. Hudson.

"I'm sorry, I know you have no reason to believe me and probably will never trust me again, but I'm sorry for Sherlock and I'm sorry for you," John pleaded and jerked back as she looked at him, expecting another slap.

"You're right, I'll never trust you again, not really," she said as she left.

John swallowed and started making breakfast.


	3. Ch 3: Brother of Mine

John walked in Sherlock's room to find the man still asleep. He thought about leaving but breakfast was done and Sherlock needed to eat. John swallowed and started toward the bed.

"I tell you I'm fond of you and suddenly you know how to cook a proper breakfast. I'm on to you, John Watson," Sherlock said with a ghost of a smile before opening one eye at the man.

John jumped at the noise, "Let's see, I make you breakfast and you give me a heart attack. Yep, that sounds about right," he said with a smile. "By the way, your lab mouse died and I threw away that brain you had in the icebox."

"The mouse died," Sherlock said sitting up and then broke into a smile, "that means that the arsenic in a dead man's brain is still toxic to animals, fascinating!" He started to jump out of bed but grimaced as his shoulder and the stab wound held him up. "But you had to go and throw out the brain so now I can't replicate the results to write up my analysis until I find another person dead of arsenic." He said as he stood from the bed, "You owe me an arsenic filled brain, John."

John shook his head as he led the way to the dining room, "So, now you aren't going to be happy until someone is dead."

"Nope," Sherlock said looking at the feast before him.

"That's not normal, you know," John said pulling out Sherlocks chair and then sitting down across from him. "How long have you been up?"

"Since the bacon hit the frying pan, my dear Watson, it is the alarm clock of all men," Sherlock said as he started to fill his plate.

John fixed his plate too but he spent more time watching Sherlock eat than he did eating his own, "You didn't eat last night," he said with a frown.

Sherlock looked up from his third plate impressed, "Nice deduction, do you mind explaining it?"

John swallowed as his stomach flipped while those beautiful calculating eyes watched him. "Well, you never eat more than one helping of any meal, except for Mrs. Hudson's Shepard's pie, unless you've missed more than two days' worth of meals. If you had eaten last night you wouldn't eat this much today, which means you went almost a week without food again."

"See, you're more than brawn," Sherlock said with a smile, "very good, John."

John blinked, "Wait, who said I was all brawn?"

Sherlock's eye brows popped up at the question as he tried to fain innocence, "Oh, no one," he said with a smile to see John give him a level look back. "Okay, so, it was Mycroft. He's always going on about how stupid you are and that you're only usefulness is as a guard dog and I keep telling him that you are brilliant. Now your deduction today wasn't mind blowing by any means but it was logically sound and quick. Just try to say something as clever next time Mycroft is over please."

John frowned, "Mycroft? Look, I know I'm not as smart as you two are but I always thought your brother liked me alright?"

"He does," Sherlock reassured, "just like he likes a good dog," he finished not seeing what liking someone had to do with the person's intelligence.

John shook his head as he grabbed more coffee, "Your brother thinks I'm daft?" He asked while pouring the coffee

"Duh," Sherlock said, "he thinks I'm an idiot most of the time. What did you think he thought of you?"

"I don't know. I mean he calls me all the time and he trust me to keep you safe. I just always thought that meant he found me to be capable," John said and then shook his head. "But you're right, if he thinks you're stupid then must think I'm a complete idiot."

"Everyone is compared to him," Sherlock commented before finishing off the last of his coffee and slowly standing back up. "Great breakfast, John." He said and walked over to the couch.

"Can… can I look at your shoulder and change the ice pack?" John asked as he stood up.

"Um, sure," Sherlock said feeling nervous as he took off his shirt. He'd walked around the flat loads of times with less clothes on then he had now but the knowledge that John knew he how he felt made things different.

John gave a grateful smile as he walked over with a fresh ice pack and unwrapped it. The bruising was starting to darken but the swelling had gone down a good bit. John rubbed the bruise with his thumb and looked at Sherlock to find the man staring at his lip. He swallowed and Sherlocks eyes move to his. Sherlock flushed as he realized that he'd been caught and he quickly looked away. "How does it feel?" John asked

Sherlock chewed on the inside of his lip, "Fine," he breathed. _He could feel his skin crawling but toward or away from John's touch? That touch, that bruise that was left by those hand. The anger that had been in his friend's eyes as he hit him over and over again. Those lips… that were so close. The look of care that his eyes had in them and that tender touch. Which was real? Was any of this REAL!_

John frowned as Sherlock's hands and arms trembled. "Sherlock?" He said with concern as he looked to see the man close his eyes while his chest rose quickly from the panicked breathing. John was about to stand when the man pulled his other hand out of his pocket with a tiny piece of paper and put it to his nose, taking in a large snort. John felt his stomach fall as he turned Sherlocks face toward him. "What the bloody hell!?" He yelled glaring up at… tear filled eyes? His glare vanished in shock and surprise.

Sherlock's chin shook, "I'm sorry, John," he said as the paper fell from his hand. _He yelled. Does that mean he'll hurt me again? Or will he hold me? Do I want him to hold me? What will my skin do if he holds me? What happens when he finds out I'm still that naive child?_

John got up and watched as Sherlock Holmes shook and wept as he balled up on his side. "Your list," he demanded with fear.

Sherlock suddenly became very still as the request registered. He looked up to see John watching him and cowered deeper against the couch. _Oh, no, he's mad now. He's going to be even more mad when he finds out!_

John held his hands up in a surrendering gesture as he saw the terror in his friend's face. "Sherlock, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help you but I can't without that list," he said keeping his voice soft and calm even though he was scared to death.

 _Did he just say he cares about me? Will he really help?_ Sherlock looked up and bit his lip as he pulled a journal from the back of the couch and held it out to John. _John is my savior. John is my demon. John is my friend. John is my end. John loves me. John hates me. John will fix me. John will break me. But would I really want to be broken by anyone else?_

John turned the journal upside down and flipped the pages but nothing fell out. "Where? Where is it, Sherlock?" He asked in a panic as he threw the book down.

Sherlock pointed at the book. _What will it feel like when he kills me? Will it feel good?_

John picked up the journal with frustration, "No, Sherlock this doesn't ha…" his sentence stopped as he read a page date four months ago.

I need to forget

Cocaine 3 lines

Heroin two hits

John felt his heart stop as he flipped to the beginning of the journal to see it dated 7 months ago, one day before Sherlocks trip and the word 'Numb' scribbled across the page. He dropped the book as he and tried to breath. Sherlock had started using because of him, because of what he'd done that night. He got to his knees and knelt beside the couch, "We'll get you clean," he said with wet eyes.

Sherlock pulled the man in a tight hug, "I love you, John," he whispered.

John's phone rang and Sherlock let go of him so he could answer it. He looked at the phone and let out a frustrate sigh as he showed it to Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned, "Ignoring him will only make it worse," he said with concerned eyes.

"Hello, Mycroft," John answered.

"There is a car out front. We need to have a chat," Mycroft said and hung up the phone.

John swallowed, "If I'm not back soon then your brother has killed me," he said standing. He really didn't want to leave Sherlock in this way, and as if Sherlock could read his mind the man slowly stood up beside him.

"I just need to rinse my face off," Sherlock said and did so in the kitchen sink. "When did we get a blender?"

John handed the man his shirt, "We always had one it was just buried underneath your rubbish," he answered grabbing up the journal and handing it to Sherlock.

"Thanks," Sherlock said with a guilty look before putting on his coat as they walked out together.

Ann was texting a message when she let out a huff. "Dead? How can it be dead when that's the second battery today?" She said to herself before throwing her phone in the passenger seat and turning around to see the two men. Her eyes widened in shock as she stared at Sherlocks face.

Sherlock rose an eyebrow, "What? Do I have something on my face?" He asked innocently but he was please to get a reaction out of her.

Ann blinked at him, "Here," she said opening the door for them. The two of them piled in the town car and soon they were off.

Sherlock scooted closer to John, "My brother doesn't know about last night and we need to keep it that way," he whispered.

"How do you know he doesn't know?" John whispered back.

"Because, if he did then she wouldn't be surprised to see me in this state," Sherlock explained.

John's mouth twisted and he thought about it before forming a tight straight line. "No, I'm not going to lie to him. When he sees you, he will look into it and find out." John whispered back.

Sherlock turned in his seat to look at John, "Are you mental? If you tell him he'll kill you," he whispered seriously.

"Did it ever cross your mind that I deserve whatever comes my way?" John asked at a normal volume as he looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned as he turned back to stare straight ahead. "What do I deserve, John?" he asked in a whisper several minutes later. "Do I deserve to be alone? Do I deserve to have the only person I have ever loved ripped from my life?"

John blinked as he considered Sherlocks words. He hadn't thought about what his absence would to do his already fragile friend. He was trying to come up with the right words when he his door was opened and he realized that they had reached their destination. John watched as Sherlock exited the car without comment and saw the trimmer in his hand. It's wasn't much and if you weren't looking for it then it wasn't noticeable but Mycroft was always looking for it and surely would see that his brother was using drugs again.

John got out of the car and followed them into a large new development. The building must have just been completed as it was empty of people and furniture in the lobby. They were lead down a long hall and then Ann stopped at the elevator. They got off at the top floor and the doors directly in front of the lifts were open to a big room with a trendy glass and rod iron table with twenty-four luxurious black leather office chairs surrounding it.

Mycroft was sitting there his chair faced out so that he could look down at the city through the solid glass walls. "Hello, John. I wasn't expecting you, Sherlock but your presence will make this conversation more efficient," he said still facing the glass. He turned with a smile of satisfaction that vanished as he saw his brothers face. Mycroft's face paled some as he stood up with wide blinking eyes.

Sherlock stood still and as his brother's eyes ran over him in calculation form. "Mycroft," he said in a casual greeting to the man.

Mycroft set his face in a cold expression but there was an implied frown. "Who did this to you, brother of mine," he asked his eyes still taking in every centimeter of bruised skin as he walked closer.

"I did," John said before Sherlock could answer.

Mycroft's lip curled up in a snarl as the man looked to John with dark dangerous eyes. "You," he said taking a step towards John.

Sherlock took two steps to put himself between the two men as he watched Mycroft. "What did you want?"

Mycroft gritted his teeth, "I know you're using again, Sherlock, and I want it to stop," he said in a demanding tone.

Sherlock nodded in conceit, "Okay, brother of mine. I just told John and he has graciously offered to help me get clean," he said truthfully and hoping to make his brother draw the wrong conclusions about why the bruises were there.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes as his eyes scanned his brother again. "It's been going on for quite some time."

"Seven months to be exact," John answered as he took a step to the side so he could see Mycroft.

Mycroft glared at the man, "Yes, how did you know?"

"Because, I told him, of course," Sherlock said drawing his brother's attention back to him. "I'll get clean. Was there anything else, Mycroft?" He asked with a blank bored expression.

"Why did you hit my brother, John?" Mycroft said turning his dark eyes back to John.

"I told you, he just discovered I was using again," Sherlock said with a sound of impatience as he took a step to the side to put himself back between the two men.

"I'm sure that what you are saying is completely true and at the same time has nothing to do with the result of your condition, my dear brother," Mycroft snapped and took a step to the side to see Dr. Watson clearly again. "You could never lie to me, Sherlock, so I know that the facts of your statement are true but if the implication that your using had been the cause of your condition was true then John wouldn't look so guilty." He said tilting his head in a swift jerk as he stared at John like a hawk studying its prey. "No, if he'd beaten you for using then he'd be proud. His shoulders wouldn't be slumped. He wouldn't have the mist of tears in his eyes. He wouldn't be standing four paces behind you."

Sherlock swallowed, "Fine, it's personal," he said stepping between the two again.

Mycroft looked at Sherlock with a raised eyebrow, "And," he said waiting for the explanation.

"And that means that it's private. As in, I don't care to share it with you, brother of mine," Sherlock snapped with a look of defiance.

Mycroft eyes widened in shock and there was a touch of hurt in there. "Since when do you not want to share with me? You tell me everything, always have," he said with a frown. "Even when it was obvious I didn't care you felt the need to tell me about ever encounter with everyone you met. It was very annoying. The only time you didn't say something was," Mycroft's face turned from gloating to pure hatred in an instance. "Get out of my way," he barked.

Sherlock could tell he'd figured it out, "No," he said shifting into a fighting position.

John knew he should move from behind Sherlock but something in the shift of tones in Mycroft's voice make his feet feel heavy.

"Sherlock, brother of mine, while your gesture is quite touching, it is only a gesture. I have but to whisper John Watson's name and the man will be dead," Mycroft said in a soft chilling tone. "It's okay, Sherlock, I'm not disappointed in you," he explained with truthful eyes and his hands in a surrendering gesture. "I definitely don't blame you. You always wanted to fix the broken one and make them beautiful like you but they are savages, brother of mine," Mycroft said tenderly as he took a step toward his brother with caring eyes.

Sherlock swallowed hard, "I love him," he said and looked down, "and any blade that cut's his skin will also pierce mine, any bullet in him is a bullet through me, and any poison of his body will surely poison mine." Sherlock with wet eyes as he looked back up. "I cannot stop you, Mycroft, but you should know that to take his life from me will be the end of me," he said seriously.

"Oh, don't be dramatic," Mycroft said denying his brothers words.

Sherlock stared at his brother with glistening eyes, "When have I ever said I loved anyone besides family? When have you ever seen me happier than with John?" He asked as his brother looked away, refusing to answer. "Me saying I love John Watson is like me saying I am a man. It is not to be fought or praised, it's just a fact."

Mycroft shook his head as head as he didn't want to believe it but he could see no wisp of a lie in his brother and he took a step back. "And what about the marks he leaves on you!" He spat in contempt.

"Oh, Mycroft," Sherlock said his voice drenched in sympathy, "every cut on my skin cut's him deeper than any knife can reach," he said in a whisper.

"Damn, right it does," John said in a hoarse voice as tears fell from him.

Mycroft glared through Sherlock's chest at the man behind him and then steeled himself as he looked up at his brother. "Anything. That's what I'll give you to leave him and never look back. I'll give you anything this world has to offer. Power, puzzles, answers to your ever thought. Anything and everything just to walk away from the man who laid his hands on you in such a barbaric way, brother of mine," he said with concern in his eyes and love in his heart as he looked at his little brother.

Sherlock's eyes water at the emotion behind his brother's words. "I can't," he said with sorrow. "Until a newborn has taken its first breath it is perfectly well, but after that first breath it can never live without it again. I cannot stop breathing, brother of mine."

Mycroft swallowed hard, "It's the drugs talking. I'll talk to you again when you are clean. Now, step outside, Sherlock, I need a word with Dr. Watson."

"No, I will not allow you to harm him," Sherlock said sharply.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "I said talk to him. I vow to you, brother, that I will not touch him in anyway today."

Sherlock searched his brother's eyes and could see the truth in them, "Okay," he said and turned to see John watching him with brave eyes. "I'll be outside when you are ready," he said to John and walked through the open doors closing them as he left.

Mycroft pulled out a chair and sat in the chair opposite with the table between them. "Sit," he demanded and John complied.

"I'm sorry for what I did to him; it will never happen again," John said with emotion as he looked into those stone-cold eyes.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes on John, "No, you will not because if you ever so much as speak too harshly with him I will kill you myself," he stated emotionless. "I have the better mind of the two of us, but my brother is the better man, of this I am sure. You should know he deserve so much better than you will ever even dream of being."

"I may be daft but, yes, even I know that," John said seriously. "Sherlock saved my life the first day we met. I was a complete stranger to him and he opened his world to me while taking the gun from my suicidal hands." John admitted looking down at his own hands which still were bruised from his attack on Sherlock. "I will never earn the love he has given me, but I will never stop trying too." He said looking up at Mycroft with determined eyes.

Mycroft seemed to be thinking about what he'd said before speaking. "I mean what I say. Just one slip and I'll kill you, even if it kills him. I love my brother, but I'd rather him die with his blood on my hands than yours. At least I'm worthy of his death," he said before waving a dismissive hand and standing up to look out at the city below him again.

John was a little surprised, not by Mycroft's words, but that he was still alive. He swallowed as he got up from his chair and started walking toward the doors. With each step, he fully expected Mycroft to turn around and shoot him in the back and yet it didn't happen. He turned the knob of the door and walked through it to see Sherlock waiting for him and suddenly he wondered how he could ever not know the man loved him.


	4. Ch 4: For God's Sake Put Some Clothes On

Sherlock and John grabbed a taxi to get back home. They didn't say a word until the taxi had gone several blocks. "So, what did my brother say?" Sherlock asked trying to sound casual.

John gave Sherlock a serious look, "He wanted to remind me to be careful with you and that you are a very good man," he said to see Sherlock roll his eyes. "You said a lot in there," John said glancing at the man who had suddenly become interest with looking out the window. "Did you mean it all?" he asked softly.

"Yes," Sherlock said softly refusing to look at John.

"You really are the best man I have ever had the privilege of knowing," John said staring forward. They stayed quiet the rest of the drive and soon were back in their flat.

"Do you have any more drugs stashed in the house?" John asked after picking up from breakfast.

Sherlock continued to watch the program as he answered, "There is some in my pillow case, in the tank of the toilet, in the black pen on the desk that I take everywhere, on top of the ice box, and under the seat cushion of my chair."

John was surprised by how many places Sherlock had drugs stashed. How had he not notice his friend being high all the time? He opened his mouth to snap at Sherlock for his ignorance of using again, but he shut it as he had been the cause. "Drugs within three meters reach at any moment, great," he said and started looking through the spots gathering the drugs up in a plastic bag. He tried to keep his face neutral as he walked back into the living with over two pounds of drugs in his hands. "See you decided to try Meth. How was it?" he asked trying not to sound too harsh.

Sherlock pulled his blanket tighter around him, "Not good, it only made my thoughts more erratic," he said with a frown. "But if you are interested you are welcome to try," Sherlock said sharply as he shook from the DT's.

John moved his mouth as he considered saying many things back but took a calming breath, "No, I like myself," he said with a condescending tone.

"Well bully for you," Sherlock said swallowing hard as he closed his eyes.

John turned to throw away the drugs when concern and though swept over him. Did Sherlock not like himself? Surely the man did his ego was bigger than the country…but that was about his work. It was one thing to admire one's job but that wasn't the same thing as caring about one's self. He let the drugs run down the pipes of the kitchen sink before he walked back in the living room to see his friend shivering from withdrawal covered in bruises. He made a cup of tea for them and brought it in sitting on the couch with Sherlock. "I thought you might like some tea," he said really looking at Sherlock and the man was in such a world of hurt that it hurt him to see it.

"Can't," Sherlock said shaking his head a little, "too nauseous," he said clawing at his skin.

John felt his guilt rise. He was the one that had caused Sherlock all this grief. He wanted to help him, to take away this pain but he couldn't. Sherlock needed to be clean and this was the only way to do it. All he could do was provide a distraction, maybe a conversation. "So, you're gay?" John asked watching him.

"What?" Sherlock asked looking at him with irritation and confusion.

John shrugged, "Do you like men?"

Sherlock shook his head, "No, I love you. A person likes things for what they are and people of who they are. If you were a woman I would still feel the same way about you," he said simply.

"That's a beautiful way of looking at it," John said with astonishment. "People usually start with attraction and then everything else is secondary."

"No, people put themselves into boxes because it makes them feel… I don't know," Sherlock said struggling to understand what normal people got from it, "understood?" He said with conflict over the conclusion. "I don't put myself in a box because boxes don't really exist anywhere but in our minds and it restricts us to how others see us instead of who we really are."

"I'm bi too," John said with a smile as he sometimes forgot how much he loved just talking to Sherlock. The way his mind worked was wonderful.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Don't be one of **them** , John," he said with disappointment. "Stay with me, live outside the conformities and labels of society."

John chuckled, "I do live with you and I know so little about you."

"Then ask away," Sherlock said leaning in the corner of the couch to make himself more comfortable and face John fully.

John blinked a little surprised to be invited to ask all the questions he had. "Have you ever been in a romantic relationship before?" Sherlock shook his head and John's brows popped up. "Never? Not even when.."

"No," Sherlock said sharply. "Honestly, I never thought I would. I told you on the day that we met that I was married to my work."

"Yes, I remember," John said straightening up in his seat, "not that I understood what that meant then or now."

"It's obvvvviouss," Sherlock drawled. "Nothing had ever given me more pleasure or pulled at my interest more than my cases," he explained.

"Had," John said focusing on the word, "until…me?" He asked to see something so precious he couldn't believe it; Sherlock flushed a deep shad of pink.

"Yes," Sherlock said softly looking away.

"Why me?" John asked wondering what he said or did that had made Sherlock Holmes take interest in him.

"Why me?" Sherlock asked back deflecting one of the few questions that he didn't even know where to start on answering.

"Well, you're Sherlock Holmes," John said with a smile as if it was plain but the look of confusion on Sherlock's face confirmed his earlier thoughts. Sherlock couldn't understand why he liked him, because the man didn't really like himself. "I love you because you see through people and actually care enough to try and help. You saw through me and you saved me. I probably would have killed myself that day if I hadn't met you."

Sherlock frowned as he remembered everything he saw in the man that first day. "Once a depression has manifested its self into physical symptoms there isn't long before the person succumbs to it completely."

"You amaze me, Sherlock, truly," John said seriously. "You can see everything so clearly except yourself. The big question isn't how you saw my depression, but why you cared. Why did my depression matter to you and why did you try and stop it?" He asked boldly. "You always go on about be a sociopath, so why would you care about a stranger's depression."

"You're not a stranger," Sherlock said simply looking away.

"I was then," John said gently leaning forward and putting his hand on Sherlocks that was drabbed across the top of the couch.

Sherlock chewed on his bottom lip as he thought about it, "You were depressed."

"Right," John said several seconds later as he watched Sherlock struggle to explain his actions.

Sherlock swallowed, "I've been there," he said solemnly. Sherlock looked back up to Johns eyes. "I know, that until recently I may have pranced around here in less clothing than may have been appropriate but I always kept my upper legs covered. Do you know why?" He asked.

John shrugged in ignorance, "Because you didn't want your privates showing," he guessed.

"No, I mean now I don't, but then… when we were just friends…" he said shaking his head. "I've never been very modest about the human form, never found it interesting enough to be modest about. It wasn't my genitals I was hiding, it was my upper legs because that's where I used to cut myself. It's littered with old scars, you see, and I didn't want you to know about it because I'm ashamed of the battles I lost. I've tried to kill myself on several different occasions, mostly with overdoses. So, when I met you and I saw you keeling before depressions blade I had to stop it, because I knew."

John searched his friend's eyes and gripped his hand tight as it killed him to imagine a world where he never met Sherlock, a world where Sherlock Holmes killed himself. "That's it, you saved me because you knew I was depressed," he said his eyes misting up a little.

"Yes," Sherlock said simply with a nod, "that and you didn't hate me."

John laughed and pulled the man's hand to his lips kissing it with emotion as he tried to keep the tears at bay. "You're an idiot," he said searching the man's shocked expression. "You idiot. Everyone saw that I was depressed. Everyone, but only you did something to try and change it. No one else gave me a reason to live or a purpose to go on, but you. Sociopath, my arse, you have more humanity in your toe nail than everyone on this block and I'm the living proof."

Sherlock smiled, "Oh, now you are just romanticizing it," he said looking at the back of his hand where John had kissed with a shy lingering smile.

"Have," John started and almost lost his nerve before continuing, "have you ever kissed anyone… on the lips?"

Sherlock swallowed and shook his head, "No, I don't think anyone has ever really been keen on the idea of it and I hav.." he stopped the word as he shook his head, "hadn't found anyone that I wanted to kiss."

John nodded as he leaned closer, "Hadn't…past tense," he said to see that wonderful pink tint on Sherlock's cheekbone again as he got even closer. John started to close his eyes as they were so close.

"What if I do this all wrong?" Sherlock asked as the air from his words brushed John's lips.

John opened his eyes to see Sherlocks fearful eyes on his. "You won't," John said gently giving his hand a squeeze.

"John, I'm about be sick," Sherlock said pulling back and running from the couch to the bathroom.

John watched with thought, "Yep, we should probably wait until you've detoxed," he said with a nod. It was almost an hour later when John's worry toppled and he went into the restroom to check on Sherlock. The man was passed out in the floor. "Bloody hell," John said as he put his hand on Sherlock's neck to feel a weak pulse. "Okay, it's time you get in bed, Sherlock," he said loudly to see the man open his eyes.

"No, a bath first," Sherlock insisted.

John sighed, "Sherlock, you can take bath later.

"John, I shit myself," Sherlock said with some embarrassment.

"And you are going to take a bath," John said as he started filling the tub. After the bath was ready he left Sherlock with a bag for his cloths at the man request and wait patiently outside the bathroom. Sherlock opened the door half an hour later with in his dressing robe tied and clutching the wall to keep upright. John quickly helped the man to bed. "Here, this will help with the nausea and sleep," he said handing over two pills. Sherlock took them with a small swallow of water before balling up in the covers on his side in pain. John knew it was time for him to go but he couldn't just leave the man. "Move over," John instructed as he started stripping down.

"Now isn't the time, John," Sherlock said with panic as he watched John's shirt and trousers fall to the floor.

"Right, because seeing your writhing in pain is such a turn on," John said rolling his eyes.

"You didn't seem to mind last night," Sherlock said softly.

John felt sick at the statement, "I was just going to hold you, nothing more, but if you don't want me too then I'll leave." Sherlock let out another gasp of pain as he clutched his stomach. John grabbed a pail for Sherlock incase the man became sick again and crawled under the covers behind the man and wrapped his arms around him. Sherlock's body tensed at the feel of someone being so close. "It's okay," John whispered as he ran his warm hands up and down the torso and back of the chilled man.

It was several minutes later before Sherlocks body relaxed as those warm hands held him tight to the man behind him. "This is nice," he whispered before falling asleep.

John had every intention of getting back up and working on a light late lunch or an early supper but every time he made a move to pull his arms from Sherlock the man whimpered in his sleep and John just couldn't allow himself to the cause of that sound.

John woke up find Sherlock face to face with him and the man's arms wrapped around him as well. John swallowed as he looked in those eyes, "Hey," he said stupidly.

Sherlock gave a grimaced smile, "You make a lovely furnace, John," he said. He thought about telling John about how his penis was stiff for the first time in a long time but he was still detoxing. "I like the holding thing."

John grinned, "You mean cuddling? Wow, I never pegged you for a cuddlier, Sherlock," he said pulling the man tighter when something poked him in the leg and John blushed, "Okay," John said to see Sherlock biting his lip softly. "Sorry about that," he said tenderly.

Sherlock blushed too, "It's alright. It felt good," he whispered and swallowed. "It… doesn't do this often," he said awkwardly and moved to stretch when his stiff penis ran up the side of Johns warm leg and making Sherlock let out a foreign groan.

John felt his cock stiffen at that noise as his arms slid down encircling the man's lower back and hips. "I should go," he said as the urge to rub himself against the man grew at an alarming rate.

"No," Sherlock begged, "I'm sorry if I caused you any discomfort."

"It's not that, it's more like it's too nice," John tried to explain to feel Sherlock rock his hip against his leg again and blush as he groaned. "Fuck me, if you keep doing that I'm going to lose it."

"Sorry," Sherlock said with shame as he pulled away with some moisture in his eyes and John stopped him.

"You're not doing anything wrong," John tried to explain.

"Well, you're sure making me feel like I'm doing something wrong," Sherlock said with tears still lingering in his eyes.

John felt like a jerk, "No, darling," he said his right hand caressing the face, "you are perfect. Your body and its responses are perfect. It isn't that you aren't doing it right, it's that you are doing it so well." John rolled his hips a little against Sherlocks chiseled torso and bit his lip. "See," he said breathlessly.

Sherlock blinked in surprise, "I… made this happen?" he asked in wonderment as his hand felt Johns harden penis through his pants.

"OOOOOhhhhhhhhh," John groaned as those cold fingers slipped over his hot pecker.

Sherlock's eyes widen in surprise and interest, "You liked that?" He said running his fingers over the hot cloth covered flesh again.

"Ohhh GOD YESSSS," John exclaimed through heavy breathing.

Sherlock smiled, "Can I look? I want to see it, John," he asked with bright blue eyes.

John shook his head, "No, Sherlock, I… I don't think we should be doing this," he said flushed.

"Oh," Sherlock said with disappointment, "I'm sorry," he said turning away and moving to get out of the bed.

John sat up putting his hand on Sherlock's back with the dressing gown still on, "Don't," he begged and Sherlock stopped just sitting at the edge of the bed. "I don't want you to stop. I'm just afraid that if you keep on touching me that I'm going to go too far with you."

Sherlock swallowed hard as he tried to push the tears back, "I just thought…" he said in a quick breath, "that you… liked me."

John stood up pulling his trousers on before walking in front of Sherlock to see those suspected tears. He leaned down, cupping the man's cheek in his hand. "Sherlock," he said tenderly, "I love you, it's not that." He tried to find the right words and couldn't. "I'm not as pure as you are, Sherlock. When you touch me like that I'm not exploring something new and finding what I like. I know what I like and what I want to do to you and it's… more than you are ready for."

Sherlock glared up at John, "How do you know what I'm ready for?!" He barked. It hurt him to be treated like a stupid child, it felt like John was insulting his intelligence.

John gritted his teeth, "Fine, you think you are ready, do you? You ready to take me up your arse? Huh, because last time you cried over a finger!" he spat to see more tears fall from Sherlock as the man pulled away from his touch and John knew he'd been way too hard on him. "Sherlock?" he said as the man balled up in the cover's alone and covered his head.

"PISS OFF," Sherlock yelled from under the covers and he sobbed feeling rejected and naïve.

John hated himself, "Sherlock, I didn't mean it," he said with tears in his own eyes now. "Please, I didn't mean it. I just want us to go slow," he said putting a hand on the lump of cover and feeling it jerk away as he could hear the man under them still crying. John left after a couple of minutes feeling horrible.

How the hell is this going to work? John thought as he prepped the ingredient for their dinner. He was a seasoned veteran in the bedroom while Sherlock was just a newborn babe. He'd been lusting after the man for so long he had pornographic scenes that played through his head at night of what exactly he wanted and Sherlock… Well, he didn't even know his own body yet, let alone Johns. John looked back at Sherlock's closed door and swallowed. Sherlock was in there upset and frustrated… and naked and hard… John shook his head as his train of thought started going down the wrong path again. He had to get control over himself and his desire for the man. Sherlock deserved to explore and discover at his own pace and John wanted to give him that experience but how could he do it and keep his libido down enough to keep from losing control of himself when Sherlock touched him like he did or made those sweet groans of need. Hell, he was hard right now just thinking about earlier. Restraint's seem the obvious choice but it would make it hard for him to reciprocate which was a big part of discovering what one liked and it seemed cold. Of course, there were medicines that were known to lower libido but he didn't want Sherlock to think he wasn't enjoying what he might do. Put the roast in the oven and walked over to the computer. He kept passing up sites that really didn't get the point of his problem when he found a suggestion that hit home. Marijuana. He hadn't been a pot head in Uni but he did use the stuff and it always had a calming effect on him and took the edge off. He'd had sex on it before and it had been great. He'd lasted longer and been noticeably more gentile. It basically turned him from a power top to a giggling tender lover. He cleared his searches and sat down in his chair. He was decided, Marijuana was the best option but where would he get it? He hadn't smoked the stuff in over two decades and it wasn't like he was in a habit of keeping up with sellers of the it. Sherlock had taught him to become more observant, maybe he could find one just by looking for it. He chewed his lip as he tried to decide if he should actually take a walk and see if he could spot one. Why not? If he didn't find one he would just be in the same shape as he was now. He could ask Sherlock about a dealer, but given that he was detoxing he really didn't want to talk to him about drugs or tell him that he planned to use one. He got up and walked to Sherlock's closed door and found that it was locked. Panic hit him. That door had never been locked, not after the attack or during fights, never. "Sherlock! What are you doing in there?!" John yelled with worry.

"I said PISS OFF," Sherlock yelled from his bed as he kept the blade steady.

Something in Sherlock's voice didn't sit well with the doctor and he pulled back before kicking the door down to see a nude Sherlock sitting with his leg out bleeding on the inside of the upper thigh. "You idiot," he said running at Sherlock and throwing the blade across the room and pinning his wrists to the bed.

"What? It's okay for you to cut me but I can't?!" Sherlock exclaimed with cold eyes.

John let go of the man's wrist as those words knocked him back. He didn't know what to say to the man as he looked around with moist eyes and then he read it. John hates. John felt like all the air in his lungs had been sucked out as he read those words on Sherlocks skin, in the man's own blood. "No," he finally got out shaking his head, "no, couldn't hate you." He said as his chin shook and he looked in Sherlocks eyes to them full of doubt. "No," John said barely touching the man's cheekbone, "I love you, Sherl," he said to see the man flinch.

"Don't," he said with fearful eyes, "don't ever call me that," he said pulling away from the man.

"But…" John was interrupted as he tried to figure out what he'd said to upset Sherlock this time.

"NEVER CALL ME THAT!" Sherlock said getting out of the bed and hurriedly pulling the top sheet around himself with shaking hands.

"What's wrong with Sherl?" John asked to see the man look daggers at him and he remembered. It was what he'd called Sherlock all the times he'd attacked him. "I'm sorry," he said his eyes dropping to see the blood on fitted sheet still on the bed. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock," he said falling on the bed as he gripped the bloody sheet in his hand and cried like he hadn't done since he was a child.

Sherlock stared in shock as John sobbed and every gasp from him made his soul shake. "Don't," he pleaded, but John didn't stop. Sherlock swallowed hard as he timidly sat down on the bed. "John," he begged feeling every tear like a fresh papercut on his skin. "Please stop," he implored leaning down face to face, "Fine, you can call me Sherl," he said hoping to stop the tears but they only came harder and Sherlock couldn't handle it. He leaned in kissing John's lips as his trembled.

John gasped as his eyes opened to see Sherlock hesitantly closing in again and closed his eyes as those sweet lips pressed against him. The warmth coated him and as he pressed harder against the burning flesh opening his lips slightly as his tongue licked Sherlock's bottom lip which opened and his tongue explored.

Sherlock felt his throat hum as his tongue massaged John's as his body leaned over the man, pressing John to the mattress as he straddled him.

"Sherl," John whimpered pulling back from the passionate kiss.

Sherlock opened his eyes surprised to find himself on top of John. "Well," he said still shocked, "that went better than I expected," he said and swallowed.

John was certain that he'd never seen anything quite as erotic as Sherlock Holmes straddling him, bed sheet fallen around his hips, lips red and swollen from kissing and a lost look in his eyes. "I think I should cry more," he said seriously as he looked at the man with desire.

Sherlock blushed a dark shade of crimson, "Try it and watch me move to my riding crop," he said warningly.

John felt his cheek flush as the thought of Sherlock sitting on him with a riding crop made his naughty bits tingle. "Now that could be interesting," he said slowly and bit his bottom lip.

Sherlock swallowed, "I'm probably bleeding on you," he said crawling off John and pulling the sheet from his leg.

John sat up looking at the leg too. "I'll get you some disinfectant and wrapping for it," he said and doctored the leg up right. When he was done he looked back up at Sherlock who was flushed and had a hand over the sheet covering his genitals. John couldn't blame him, if Sherlock had been keeling between his leg he would have the same problem. It took every ounce of will power not to put a few kisses on that thigh, which would lead to pulling the sheet down. He stopped that thought, "I need your vow that you will never do this again," he said seriously as he stood up.

Sherlock's lip twitched as he watched John, "I vow to never cut myself on purpose while we are dating," he could see a John didn't look completely satisfied by his words. "That's the best I can do and honestly is all I owe you."

John swallowed as he thought he really didn't even deserve that much, "Okay," he said and leaned down barely brushing his lips against Sherlocks in a tender sweet kiss then moving his lips to the shell of Sherlocks ear. "Also, I may want to kill you at times but don't ever… ever think I could hate you," he whispered before straightening to look down at Sherlock who was watching him with calculating eyes.

Sherlock nodded licking his lips and stood up to his full height causing John to take a step back. "How was the kiss?" he asked unsure.

John chuckled, "Are you kidding me? When you can make a grown man whimper from just a kiss then you are doing something right, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked worried, "Okay, so which part did I do right?"

John laughed as he hugged the man, "Every part, every bloody part," he said with amusement as he looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock blushed, "Oh, glad to hear it, though I think your tongue would feel better if it slowed down," he said and winked.

John looked at the man still only wearing a sheet and shook his head, "You are going to be the death of me yet, and for God's sake, please put on some clothes."

Sherlock smirked as he let the sheet fall and saw John lick his lips as his eyes slowly wandered down. "I don't think it's for God's sake at all John," he said turning just before John got to his pecker and giving the man a good view for his buttock as he walked to the bathroom grabbing clothing along the way."

"Never mind," John choked, "clothing isn't necessary!" He called as he watched that arse move to see Sherlock glance over his shoulder at him.

"John, my eyes are up here," he said wickedly before entering the bathroom.

John ran to his room and grabbed a sock. There was only so much he could take. He pulled down his trousers and pants and wanked. It didn't take him long before he lost his load muttering Sherlock's name. He took a moment to gather his wits before opening his door to find a smiling Sherlock. His eyes widened as his face flushed.

"I guess the fact you say my name when you masturbate should be of some comfort," Sherlock said looking him over with interest. "So, it took you took you all of ten minutes from seeing me naked to twist the knob. I'm going to take that as a compliment," he said skipping down the steps.

John smiled, "I was basking in the afterglow for at least 5 minutes," he called out.

Sherlock stopped and looked up with bright blue eyes, "Where you really? I think that just made me jump from handsome to super-hot on the poll."

John chuckled, "Super-hot, that's you all the way," he said walking do to check on the roast.


	5. Ch 5: John, You Wanker!

Sherlock watched John as he ate the roast and vegetables being careful to get just the right bite with a half a baby carrot two slices of onion and a 10 – 14 grams of potato to every 5cm cube of lamb roast. He smiled as he saw the John finish his carrots to have one bite of lamb left. John didn't even hesitate to cut a carrot in half in the pan and take one half for himself to finish out his perfect ratio. "Fascinating," he said with a smile.

"What?" John responded wiping his mouth with his paper napkin.

"You are a precise animal, John. You have a beat to your every movement that you fallow. You sleep on the same side of the bed every night, fold all your clothes so they are always ready to go, eat your foods in a particular fashion, and cut your hair exactly every twenty days in the same cut by the same man. So, tell me why have you never date a man since we started living and working together?" He asked with intense eyes.

John swallowed uncomfortably, "I couldn't. Everyone kept thinking that we were a couple and I kept insisting that we weren't and that I wasn't gay, which I'm not, but it was misleading. That means if I had ever dated a man then everyone one would just be more insistent that we should or were dating and I didn't want that." He said firmly as he picked up their dishes.

"But why wouldn't you want that?" Sherlock asked with confusion.

John let out a little bitter laugh, "Because we weren't dating," he said sharply.

Sherlock looked only more confused, "But you wanted us to date, so why would it bother you if they thought we were or should be?"

John dropped the dishes in the sink harsher than was necessary, "It was precisely because I wanted to date you that I had a problem with it. Bloody hell, how can you not see that." He said with a glare at Sherlock. "And thanks, by the way, for never correcting their assumption of us!" He finished with his voice raised some.

Sherlock frowned as he looked John in the eyes, "I rather thought it was a good clue as to how I felt about you. Sorry, I gave you credit for being clever enough to work out that if it didn't bother me if others thought we were together and I did nothing to dissuade their assumption that it might mean I did like you." He said sharply getting up from the table and sitting on the couch.

John looked like his brain had just had a seizure as he thought about what Sherlock had said and the man's logic behind it. He walked over to sit at the opposite end of the couch still shaking his head. "You are the smartest man I know, you can't really be so daft as to not understand how the situation was embarrassing to me," he said in true astonishment.

Sherlock's doubts were confirmed and he swallowed hard looking down as it pierced his shell right to the core of him. "No, I think I understand perfectly well," he said and grabbed the paper to look at it, facing away from John.

John blinked rapidly as he saw a shift in Sherlocks emotions then that cold mask was slipped back on. He shook his head, "Sherlock," he said to see the man ignore him but there was a slight grimace at hearing his name, "I don't know what you are thinking, but I don't think you understand at all," he said in confusion and worry.

Sherlock gritted his teeth some before slapping the paper back down on the coffee table, "Oh I understand perfectly. Who would want to be associated with me?! Right! I'm a sociopath, cold and heartless. I'm a jerk who is annoying and hard to get along with. I'm some robot virgin who's only contribution to this world is my mind. I get it. I understand, John." He said trying to stay in control of his emotions.

John blinked at him in shock, "No. No. I didn't mean…" John frowned as he scooted closer to Sherlock and saw the man pull back some. "I'm not ashamed of you. You're amazing," he reassured to see Sherlock give him an unsure look. "I was embarrassed because I wanted us to be a couple and we weren't. It felt like they could see through me and where poking fun at me for wanting what you didn't. It was as if they were making fun of me for being rejected or worse, not even being noticed by you." He said finding it even more embarrassing to explain.

Sherlock frowned, "Well, that's stupid. No one knew how you felt about me and I never rejected you because you never asked."

"You don't understand," John said pulling back some.

"Right, how would I understand? It wasn't like you made a big production every time about how we weren't dating and you would never date me because you weren't attracted to me in any romantic way," Sherlock said watching John. "You rejected even the notion of me every time all because you felt rejected for something you never even asked."

John closed his eyes at how foolish he'd been and hurtful. If Sherlock had gone on and on about how he'd never date him it would have cut like a knife and he'd done it countless time to the man himself. "I'm an idiot," he said moving closer. "Please forgive me," he asked softly.

Sherlock looked honestly surprised at the request, "I don't blame you. You didn't know how I felt."

John kept being amazed by how caring and understanding Sherlock was in a relationship. "How is it that you weren't already taken?"

"Oh, shut up," Sherlock said blushing some and stretching with a grimace as his muscles ached from the detoxing. He settled back down, "I was wondering, how many people have you dated?"

"Oh," John asked caught by surprise by the question, "um, why do you ask?" He said biting his lip some.

Sherlock rose any eye brow, "I just wondered," he said simply.

"Right, um, I'm not sure right off hand," John said with a shrug.

Sherlock looked skeptical, "How would you not know… oh," he stopped as he realized the answer, "that many. Okay, never mind that question. How many people have you had sex with?"

John paled at the question. There Sherlock sat having never shared himself with anyone and he didn't even know the names of everyone he'd been with let alone the number of them. "I'm not sure."

"Right," Sherlock said softly, "do you know how many men, at least?" He asked with his arms wrapped around him with a slight pout.

"Around forty," John said feeling a little judged, "why does it matter?"

Sherlock blinked at the high number. He'd just turned thirty and John had slept with more men than he'd even been alive. The man wasn't even sure of how many people he'd had sex with but one could assume it was more than eighty since he knew how many men and not women. His mind kept calculating how many people those other had slept with and the people that those people slept with. It was alarming and then how many of the people had he said he loved?

John coughed, "What's the problem? You knew I was not a virgin long before now." He watched as Sherlock was still thinking oblivious to the question. He rolled his eyes, "It doesn't matter, Sherlock."

Sherlock met Johns eyes, "Well it's obvious it doesn't to you," he snipped.

John frowned, "And why would it matter to you?" He asked with some irritation.

"Because this matters to me!" Sherlock exclaimed feeling foolish, "I am an idiot. I thought that this… was special. I thought that we would make the long haul."

John shook his head, "This is special and who say's we're not going to make it? The amount of people I have been with doesn't determine that." He said getting more frustrated at Sherlock.

"How many others have you said the same thing too?" Sherlock asked with intensity.

John swallowed, "Only a few," he answered seriously as he could see where this was going now. "I slept around a lot during my Uni years and my first five years in the service. The four serious relationships I tried all ended bad. Jennifer cheated on me, Chris died, Elizabeth had an abortion and Daniel moved. So, unless you plan on doing the same things they did then we should be fine."

Sherlock thought about the answer with some confusion, "But, why didn't you ever mention your serious relationships with me?"

John looked down, "I never mentioned them because it hurts to talk about them. It hurt to lose them. I'm sorry, I should have told you I guess," he said as for the first time in a long time really thought about the loves of his life and how all of them had fallen apart.

Sherlock could see emotions swimming in Johns eyes and it hurt him to know he'd brought up the sad memories. "No, you didn't owe that just like I didn't owe you the talk about Uncle Barney. I only told you about Uncle Barney when it became relevant and now you have told me about them." He said scooting closer to John slipping his hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm sorry I upset you, John, with my… insecurities. It's just so new and I don't want to fail either of us."

John looked up to see those rare caring eyes searching his. Sherlock cared most of the time but it was a rare thing to see it in his face and eyes, usually it was just a slight tone in his voice and it was most visible in the man's actions. "You can't fail at a relationship, Sherlock, you can only stop trying," John said with a reassuring smile as he leaned in and gave him a peck on the lips.

Sherlock had a shadow of a smile on his lip and leaned against him. They both move a little until they were in a rather comfortable cuddling position. "John," Sherlock said in a small voice, "do you worry about what will happen to us if this doesn't work?"

John gave him a little squeeze, "No, because I think we love and know each other well enough that we'll be fine. I know all your annoying habits and you know mine. I don't want you to change and I don't think you want me to change either." He said and rubbed his hand up and down the man's arm as he thought about all they had been through.

"I'm scared," Sherlock said in a whisper and swallowed. "John, I've never had anyone like you in my life."

John kissed the dark curls on his head, "I know being a couple is new and different but it will be wonderful. It just takes some getting used to."

"No, I'm not talking about the couple's thing. I'm talking about the friendship we have. I've never had someone honestly like me and want to spend time with me. I've had people who appreciated what I did for them or appreciate what I can do for them and of course my family loves me, but no one who just wanted to be around me all the time." Sherlock bit his lip as John held him even tighter, "I've become, sort of, dependent on it and if I lost that… if I lost you…"

"Don't you even think on it," John said turning his head to see a very worried Sherlock. "It isn't going to happen. Your stuck with me now forever!" He declared with a smile and felt Sherlock chuckle against him. The man's words were some of the saddest he'd ever heard. How could anyone meet this wonderful man and not want to follow his ever step. Yes, he could be annoying and cold at times but he was so smart and sweet at times too.

"I hope so," Sherlock said softly and was asleep within a few minutes.

John watched a coupled of programs since it was still early. It was almost nine when he felt the man start to shiver and let out soft distressed noises as he slept. The detoxing was starting to take its toll on him again. John rubbed his side and the noises would stop but only for a couple of minutes before coming back. He really didn't want to have to wake Sherlock, it was nice having him curled up to him but it was time the man took some medicine and got in a proper bed. "Hey," he said to hear a little irritated growl from the man which made him laugh, "Sherlock," he said louder.

"It's hard to sleep with you calling my name, now hush," Sherlock mumbled in John's shirt.

John shook his head as he smiled, "Sherlock, either you get up or I'm going to start exploring what parts of you are ticklish." That earned him a one-eyed glare from his beloved.

"You wouldn't dare," Sherlock said with a warning tone.

John smiled wickedly, "Okay," he said happily as his fingers started moving along the man's side and suddenly Sherlock was squirming and giggling as he sat up. John was elated by the response even if Sherlock was glaring daggers at him. "I remember you telling me that you weren't ticklish," he said with a knowing smile.

"I said that the sensitivity to tickling is only for less evolved animals and that it wasn't a burden of mine," Sherlock said shivering.

"But you are ticklish," John said putting a blanket around the man's shoulders and handing him his medicine.

"Obviously I didn't know I was ticklish," Sherlock said taking the pill with a swallow of cold tea.

John gave him a doubtful look, "No one's tried to tickle you before?" He saw Sherlock shake his head and couldn't believe it, "not even Mycroft when you were kids?"

"No, he didn't, we weren't that kind of family," Sherlock explained.

"But surely your parents snuggled you or hugged you," John asked as he watched the man with concern.

"No, they didn't touch me unless there was a reason to," Sherlock said getting up and walking to the bathroom.

John couldn't help but think back to all the articles he'd read about touch derivation and what it could do to child and adult. He quickly went to the bathroom door as it open and a wobbly Sherlock appeared. He slipped under his side and helped him to the bed. He tucked Sherlock in and gave him a couple of pecks, "Goodnight, Sherlock," he said turning to leave.

Sherlock grabbed the large hitting stick by his bed and hit his friends knee with it making him topple on to the bed. "Oh, good, I have my furnace back," Sherlock said with a smirk.

John was about to lay into Sherlock but between the bruises and how happy the man was to have him in his bed he just couldn't. He kicked off his shoes and socks but kept on the rest of the clothing as he got under the sheets. It wasn't long before Sherlock was facing him and sliding icy cold fingers up his shirt. "Oh," he exclaimed as he felt the them on his hot skin as they tugged his jumper off. "Sherlock, I think I should keep my clothes on," he said softly but the thought stopped as Sherlock embraced his torso and stuffed his head in the crevice of John's neck. John could feel the man shivering against him and pulled the cover up over Sherlock's shoulders and wrapped his arms around the cold back. This was a medical touch. He was doing this to keep a man from freezing and succumbing to the effect of touch deprivation.

"I love you, John," Sherlock whispered against the man's neck.

John smiled at the words and the feel of the man's lips against his neck. "I love you too, Sherlock," he said holding him tighter and putting a kiss on his head. Yeah… it was just a medical touch. It wasn't his fault that the man in need of such touches was cute and sexy as hell. It would be wrong to deny Sherlock's needs just because of how he looked or their relationship. He massaged the cold smooth back of the man until they fell asleep.

John woke up to find Sherlock gone and could hear the distant sound of the man being sick in the bathroom. "Sherlock, is there anything I can do for you?" He asked loudly.

Sherlock clutched the toilet, "No, go back to bed," he said and heaved again.

John sighed and waited but before he knew it he was asleep again. He woke up several hours later to find that Sherlock was still gone and evidently playing the violin. He looked at his phone to see it was still early and just laid in the bed listening to the beautiful tones of his lovers playing. The man was a fine musician though every time John had told him this he'd always deny it stating that he never had the artists touch and that it was just a hobby for him. John still felt like Sherlock could walk into any Symphony audition and get a chair. He fell asleep again and woke up at a more normal hour to hear the music still playing. John got up and stretched to hear his bones pop some slowly opened the door to see Sherlock dancing beautifully to a recording (probably one of Sherlock's original pieces). John watched the way the man moved with such grace and his beautiful body was transformed into art. Sherlock danced with his eyes closed which meant that John got to watch for a good quarter hour before Sherlock noticed him and fell flat on his arse.

John clapped as the wide-eyed detective flushed, "Absolutely stunning! I never knew you were so brilliant as a dancer," he said walking up and putting his hand out.

Sherlock grabbed it and hoisted himself up, "You never asked me to dance," he stated seriously.

John quickly bowed, "My dear Sherlock, may I have this dance," he asked looking up as he gently held his hand.

Sherlock blinked a couple of times before smiling broadly, "You're going to spoil me," he said with delight and pulled the man to him. John felt the temperature rise as their bodies moved back and forth against each other and the music. When the first song ended Sherlock was looking deep in John's eyes, "I never had a partner before," he said with a swallow and then he was saved as the next song came on and he started dancing again. This one ended in a dip and Sherlock held John by the small of his back as he was leaned over the man only a mere couple of centimeters from his lips. John broke and leaned up kissing him deeply. Sherlock moaned pulling John against his body as his tongue explored and massaged the other man's.

John finally pulled away from the kiss as he felt his darker desires start to rise. Things like how Sherlock was only in pajama bottoms which he could easily pull down and how delicious his creamy white skin would taste. "I've got to piss," he said in embarrassment.

Sherlock let the man go with a slight frown, "Okay, just take your time this round. I wouldn't want you injuring yourself at the thought of me," he said with a smirk and wink.

John stopped and swallowed. Was he really that easy to read? "Sherlock, I'm not…"

Sherlock interrupted him, "Do you need any more motivation," he asked seductively as his finger dipped beneath his waistline of his pajama bottoms. "You know if you were nice then you'd let me watch. I haven't been able to get to sleep since I woke up and I've been bored alllll morrrnnnning, John," Sherlock drawled. "Why don't you give me a treat and let me watch?" He said with a smile and a little hop.

John's mouth went completely dry at those naughty fingers and that cheeky request. "Bloody hell, Sherlock," he cried out as his face turned red, "are you trying to drive me mad?" He asked to see that smile fade which was worse than a punch from the man.

"I guess I'm daft, I just thought that if I'm the cause of your need then you might enjoy seeing me when you serviced your pistol but evidently not. Too bad, it would be nice to have had some instruction for myself in case I ever need to beat the bishop but I guess I can learn that on the streets," he said sharply turning and looking out the window.

"Blimey, you're going to be the death of me Sherlock Holmes," John said checking the door to make sure it was locked and then started taking off his trousers. He pushed them down and kicked them at Sherlock who turned around with more razor-sharp words at the tip of his tongue but seemed to swallow both words and tongue and he saw John slid his pants down and step out them leaving him stark naked with a very engorged pecker. Sherlocks started coughing loudly. John smirked a bit, "No, no, Sherlock, you're only supposed to choke on it after the nosh," he said to see Sherlock's wide eyes meet his as his mouth hung open. God, that man with those open lips was going to be his undoing. "Close your mouth, Sherlock, you look like you're gagging for it," he said rather crudely but the result was what he needed as that gaping hole closed. He swallowed before letting his eyes go back up to Sherlocks and see the man was flushed too dark of pink and there was a little moisture in his eyes as he stared at the ground to the right of John. Okay, maybe a little too harsh and suddenly he was reminded of Uncle Barney which knocked the breath out of him. Dear, Lord, that was probably the last time Sherlock had been in a locked room with someone in his position and he'd made the child of the man in front of him do things. "Hey, Sherl," he started and the man flinched at the name and he wanted to comfort him and took a step closer.

"I… I… I'm s..s…sorry," Sherlock stuttered as he moved back his hands shaking as he looked at John.

John covered his mouth with his hand as he saw the pure terror on Sherlock. "Love of my life, I'm sorry. What I said was crude, but please know I never meant for you to act on it and I would never want you to do something you were uncomfortable with," he begged.

"This is stupid!" Sherlock said looking at his hands as his chin still shook, "My body is mine. It is mine to control so why is it acting like some naïve child?!" He said swallowing hard as he tried to calm down.

John looked up to keep the tears from falling, "Because that's was PTSD does to your body," he said glancing back at Sherlock. "Your body is trying to flee because of what Uncle Barney and I did to you. It's trying to keep you safe, Love."

Sherlock swallowed as he looked around and concentrated on his breathing and then his eyebrow shot up, "What happened to your willy, John?" He asked as John's member had gone soft.

John let out a sigh, "Well, when I have hurt someone I love beyond retribution then it kind of changes the mood," he said with a tender smile. "Are you okay, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded with a disappointed pout, "I'm sorry. I guess, I am a naïve child," he said sadly with an edge of bitterness. He started thinking hard and heard the rustle of clothes to see John starting to get dressed. "No," he said walking up and taking the man's knickers from him. "How am I ever going to get past this is I'm never exposed to it?" He asked to see John give him a worried look. "Really, think about it! I need this. I need you naked and aroused and I need to deal with it and be okay. The only answer is exposer. That is the only way I can get on with it and past it." Sherlock said watching him. John shook his head unable to find his voice. "What does it for you?" He said thinking about what John liked, "Do you like this?" Sherlock asked taking off his pajama shirt and smiling as John's eyes dilated some. "Oh, good, maybe this will be easier than I thought," he said running a hand up the man's torso so hear a breathless moan before kissing John's neck and sucking on it as he pulled the man closer.

"Oh, God, okay," John said pulling away as he was so hard it was slightly painful. "You… you… ohm fixed it," he said panting as he tried to calm down.

"Really?" Sherlock said with interest as his eyebrow bobbed as his saw the proof. "That was fast," he said with a pleased smile.

John bit his lip to keep from murdering the man. Cock tease didn't even begin to cover what the man did to you. "Well, when you're working with the right tools," John said sitting on the armrest of his chair, putting one foot in the seat to give Sherlock a good 'instructional' view.

"Oh," Sherlock said as his eyes lit up, "that right, I almost forgot!" he said pulling down his own pajama bottoms.

John looked to see a very groomed dark arrow pointing down to a long soft sheet white penis hanging perfectly between two large low hanging balls. His own penis twitched at he looked and Sherlock chuckled.

"Look, yours is moving on its own. I didn't know they could do that!" Sherlock said cheerfully.

John took in a breath of air, "An arrow?" he asked trying to remain seated.

"Well, I use to keep it in a cross shape but I thought it was time for a change now that we're dating." Sherlock answered with a wink, "You like it?" He did a little hop when John's penis pulled up on its own before falling back to its normal stiff level. "It answered," Sherlock said his eyes bright as he stepped closer and sat in his chair.

John swallowed, "Please, pull up your pants Sherlock unless you plan to practice as you watch and I need some lube," he said his eyes still glued to Sherlock's genitals. Sherlock got up and bent over to rummage through a drawer. John squeezed his balls to keep his load at bay as the he saw Sherlock's ass in its most beautiful light his naughty bits dangling. He gripped the pillow in the chair with the other hand tightly and forced himself to look away.

Sherlock walked back and pulled his pants up, "Here, is something wrong, John," he asked to see the man trying to murder a pillow and squeezing his own ball in a way that looked quite painful.

"Don't ever bend over like that in front of me again without clothes unless you are offering up something more than my own hand," John said reaching out for the lube.

Sherlock smirked, "Can I?" he asked opening the top to see John nod with a stiff neck. He held it above the man's problem and gave a light squeeze to see it land on the bell end and roll down. Sherlock swallowed as he saw John close his eyes and stroke it, letting out a lustful moan. He took in the how the hand twisted at the tip of it. The stroke back was twice as long in time as the tug up. The man's other hand massage his balls. "Brilliant, how does it feel?"

John opened his eyes to find Sherlock crouched down at eye level with his willy as he watched not even a foot away. "Bollocks," he said closing his eyes again his hips moved thrusting in his hand. "Move Sherlock," he said in a pant.

Sherlock wasn't listen and was shocked then he saw Johns load coming at him and closed his eye. He felt the warm thick goo hit his eyelid, another spirt hit his cheekbone, and one last release splattered on his lips and down his chin. Sherlock open his eyes still surprised and looked up to see John open his eyes which were dark with dilation and bit his lip and he jerked harder pulling to the right and let out two more loads.

John shook his head, "Sherlock, I said to move," he said as he looked at his man juice on Sherlock.

Sherlock giggled, "Oh my, that's insane!" he said and then licked his lip and made a thoughtful face, "It's not awful but I don't think it would be good on toast."

John shook his head as he started laughing, "No, no, I wouldn't think so," he said and watched as the man started to go to the bathroom. "So, did you learn anything?" he asked.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder at John, "Oh, yes, loads," he said with a smirk and winked his goo covered eye.

That was all it took for John to fall off his armrest in a fit of laughter.

 **Hello Everyone, Thanks for reading my stuff and please remember that writers live for reviews ;) _hint hint_**


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